


lay my head on the hood of your car, i take it too far

by singedhands



Series: a dirty job au [2]
Category: A Dirty Job - Christopher Moore, IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Relationship Status: It's Complicated, it's about the yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singedhands/pseuds/singedhands
Summary: Richie wants to tell Eddie that he is never going to get over losing his sister, just how Richie is never going to get over Eddie. His grief over Margaret lives in the same cavernous, swirling void that houses his heartbreak over losing Eddie when they were in university. They’re different empty entities, but they reside in the same space behind Richie’s ribcage, waiting.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: a dirty job au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131677
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	lay my head on the hood of your car, i take it too far

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! this is a not-necessary-but-kind-of fic that takes place between updates 19 and 20.
> 
> title is from [bloodbuzz ohio by the national](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfySK7CLEEg)

No one ever talks about the fragments of time after attending the funeral of someone you love. 

Richie had stood outside of where he had just given the eulogy for his sister’s funeral with his hands in his pockets, wishing desperately that he hadn’t given up smoking back in university. He had no idea where his keys were or where his wallet was. He was lucky that he had managed to put his glasses on his face that morning, otherwise that would have been anybody’s guess too. 

There were no cliches of a rainy day or grey clouds looming over where they buried Margaret either. It was ironically a pretty sky by Vancouver standards, still early enough in their day that there was a cool breeze blowing through the air as Richie watched his sister being lowered into the ground. 

No one ever talks about how the world around you continues to spin when someone you love dies, that the people walking around the day that Richie buried his sister had no idea that Richie’s life had been turned upside down for the last week. 

Richie had never wished for rain so much in his life.

He only looked back once when Eddie drove him away from the cemetery, hoping uselessly that maybe he would see Margaret standing there, safe and waving goodbye at him. Maybe if Richie just had one second to wave goodbye he wouldn’t feel so empty.

The drive is quiet, not even the radio turned on as they head back to Eddie’s. It feels strange to not have Piper strapped into the backseat even though she can’t be put into her carseat without crying now. More to the point, Eddie is quiet as he drives, his grip on the steering wheel uncomfortably tight by the look of how white his knuckles are. Richie wants to make a joke, wants to say something that will make it less like they’re driving away from a funeral.

He sits, pretending instead that they’re driving back from the old drive-in they used to go to back in the early days of their… whatever it was. It was an hour and a half each way but it was the only drive-in that existed, so they would pack up Richie’s piece of shit Honda with blankets and food that they definitely were not allowed to bring and make the drive. They would always leave way too early so that they could get the best spot in the middle and to beat all the trucks that would block their view. Eddie used to always crank his seat all the way back and make Richie do the same, draping all their blankets across the both of them, sometimes completely forgetting to put the radio station on to listen to the movie. They would get too caught up in talking for hours instead of watching the actual movie until it was the middle of the night and the second movie in the double featured had ended, nervously linking their fingers under the comforter Eddie had swiped from Richie’s dorm.

Richie can’t say all of that.

So, he doesn’t.

Eddie tosses his keys onto the kitchen table, already halfway out of his suit jacket while heaving a sigh as the overhead lights are turned on. Richie can feel that he is being watched by Eddie’s dark eyes, tracking his movements into the living room where Richie sits himself onto the couch. 

All Richie can think about is handing his niece off to his grieving parents after the funeral while he walked the other way, trying to convince himself that Piper was going to be okay for one night with her grandparents.

Richie felt like dirt for driving away from them. He still does, for the record.

“It must have been a bad day if you’re not even on my ass about not taking off my shoes,” Richie breaks the silence between them, rubbing his face with his palms vigorously. He pushes off his shoes with the heel of his foot as he says it, doing the same with the other until he’s left in his black socks. He hears Eddie scoff along with the noises of filling his kettle and putting it on the stove. 

“Like I’ve ever given a shit about that before,” Eddie retorts, but Richie knows the tone, and he also knows better. There’s no heat behind it though, no actual issue to be had. If anything, Eddie sounds tired. Richie knows the feeling. 

It was already dark by the time they had left the cemetery, now the sky outside of Eddie’s apartment pitch black with the occasional star scattered across it. Living downtown made it almost impossible to see any sort of celestial body other than the moon, which was now hiding behind a handful of clouds. 

_ Rain,  _ Richie thinks to himself, staring at the hidden moon trying to stare right back down at him, probably judging him. _ If the moon is behind clouds at night, it’s going to rain the next day. _

Margaret had been into knowing useless facts about what certain occurrences meant when it came to the weather. Richie supposed it came with having a parent who was a well-known weatherperson. 

_ Fog at night means it’s going to rain the next day. The moon behind light clouds means it’s going to rain the next day. Did you know if you kill a spider that you’re going to cause a week long rain storm? _

Well, maybe it came more from superstition than an interest in weather. Richie was never the superstitious type. 

“What is it?” Eddie asks after a moment, causing Richie to look up from where he had put his head in his hands.

“I’m just thinking about how my sister never let me kill spiders because she thought it was going to spur a seven day rainstorm.” Richie replies, falling back against the couch. Eddie snorts in what sounds like surprise.

“That’s true, you know.” Eddie says quietly, and Richie waves his hand in dismissal. 

“You two always think the weirdest shit,” It is said into Richie’s palms, that lump that had made its home in Richie’s throat that day at the hospital making itself known after being fought against all day. “Thought. Thought the weirdest shit.” Richie corrects himself, and he hears Eddie make a small humming noise before the click of the stove being turned off. 

“I think she only said that to you so you wouldn’t be cruel to spiders,” Eddie replies as he makes his way over to where Richie is sitting, two steaming mugs in his hands that he puts on his coffee table, taking his spot next to him. Richie doesn’t reach for his. Eddie doesn’t make him. 

“I’m not ‘cruel’ to ‘spiders’,” Richie airquotes at him, incorrectly just to be annoying, while Eddie pushes Richie’s dress shoes aside so neither of them trip over them later.

“They’re good luck to some cultures, you know,” Eddie continues while also pushing Richie’s hands down that were air quoting him as he spoke. “So killing one can be looked at as bringing yourself bad luck. Hence the rain.”

“Never say hence to me again,” Richie starts rubbing over his face like he had been before and Eddie reaches to pull at Richie’s hands again. 

“You never killed them though,” Eddie says, letting one of his hands linger on Richie's wrist as if he doesn’t know that Richie’s heart hasn’t stopped dead in his chest at the touch. “She always complained that you were always running out of cups because you would just take the spider outside and completely abandon the glass you put it in.”

“I don’t think I can talk about her anymore,” Richie whispers suddenly, feeling Eddie’s fingers squeeze over his pulse. 

“Right now? Or… in general?” Eddie’s voice is strange, almost pained. It makes Richie look at him, seeing his eyes wide with unshed tears that he must have been holding back for Richie’s sake. 

“Both,” Richie says quickly as he reaches for his too hot mug, burning his palm but ignoring it. Richie is lying despite how he knows it will make Eddie frown, how all Richie wants to do is talk about his sister while also never wanting to think about her again, how her absence in his life has already created a cavernous void that he isn’t sure he will ever be able to recover from. Richie wants to tell Eddie that he never killed any of those spiders because he had done it once when they were kids and Margaret had cried for hours. Richie felt like shit for making her cry and never did it again. Richie wants to tell Eddie that every time he ever looked at the night sky when his sister lived on the east coast that he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was, wondering if they were going to get rain or snow. Richie wants to tell Eddie that he used to pray for snow in Vancouver because he would get to complain to his sister about the five inches of snow a year they would get, which would have her snap at him that Toronto was in the middle of a blizzard.

Richie wants to tell Eddie that every time he looks at his niece that he sees how much she looks like his sister, and how Piper wails the exact same pitch that Margaret used to as a baby when she was pissed off. Richie wants to tell Eddie that he is never going to get over losing his sister, just how Richie is never going to get over Eddie. His grief over Margaret lives in the same cavernous, swirling void that houses his heartbreak over losing Eddie when they were in university. They’re different empty entities, but they reside in the same space behind Richie’s ribcage, waiting. Richie is just a walking, talking and thinking mass of flesh that has always been in mourning. That will always be in mourning for the rest of his life. 

Richie turns to look. Eddie is frowning at him. 

“What?” Richie finally says, his voice shaking but he reigns in the urge to cry. Eddie continues to frown at him, reaching over to take the mug out of Richie’s hands and wincing at how hot it is before placing it back to where it was on the table. Their legs are pressed together even though Eddie’s couch can fit them both comfortably, and Richie is acutely aware of how warm Eddie’s skin is underneath the fabric of his suit slacks.

“You don’t have to,” Eddie says quietly, turning so he can face Richie. 

“I want to,” Richie starts, but Eddie squeezes his wrist again.

“I know you do. But you don’t have to right now.” Eddie insists like he knows. He always does. 

He’s right. Like he always is.

A silence falls over them, Eddie’s fingers still looped around Richie’s pulse like he’s checking it, or trying to keep it inside Richie’s skin. Either way, Eddie’s fingertips burn against Richie’s skin like a flame. 

Richie’s head bows as he pushes his glasses to the top of his head, pressing his fingertips of his other hand to the corners of his eyes like he is trying to make himself cry. He wants to reach into his tear ducts and scoop out every single tear he hasn’t shed over his sister, over the loss he feels. It would ease the pit in his stomach, the emptiness behind his chest, but he can’t bring himself to do it. 

“Your mom gave me some of your clothes to change into so you didn’t have to sleep in your suit,” Eddie says after a while, his grip still around Richie’s wrist, his thumb now moving back and forth over the bone there. 

“I could fall asleep right here,” Richie admits, the lulling movement of Eddie’s thumb against his skin probably enough to send him into a deep sleep. 

“Like fuck you’re going to sleep on this thing,” Eddie retorts at him, the suddenness of his response startles a laugh out of Richie, which startles a laugh out of Eddie. 

It goes quiet again, except Richie can feel how the two of them have turned inward to face each other better, Eddie’s foot digging into Richie’s kneecap while Richie’s foot is tucked underneath him. It’s also the easiest thing to tip forward and rest his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder. It is easy because Richie feels at his most flayed open to sit with Eddie on the same couch they had both picked out when Eddie had moved into the apartment above the shop. 

Richie feels it the moment Eddie places a hand on Richie’s shoulder, not to push him away but to pull him carefully into a hug like he’s afraid Richie will jump back.

“You don’t have to handle me with kid gloves,” Richie says as he presses his forehead against Eddie’s, trying not to think too hard about Eddie’s arm that’s winding around his waist instead of his shoulder and pointedly ignoring that being this close still makes Eddie go red over the bridge of his nose like it used to.

“I’m not,” Eddie replies in a whisper as if it’s the most obvious fact in the world. Grass is green, sky is blue, the moon behind clouds means rain, Richie’s sister is dead and Eddie Kaspbrak has never and will never treat Richie Tozier like a fragile thing. 

Richie squints at how close Eddie is to him, his glasses still propped on the top of his head, but he sees how Eddie cracks a small, weak smile at the look on his face.

“Don’t hate me,” Richie says, making Eddie furrow his brow.

“Why would I?” He asks, his fingers brushing over the back of Richie’s neck.

“I just…” Richie starts, looking over Eddie’s face as best as he can with his fucked up vision, even though he knows he could draw out Eddie’s features blindfolded. He reaches up to cup the side of Eddie’s neck, sliding his palm up to Eddie’s cheek and expecting him to pull away. 

Instead, Richie watches as Eddie’s eyelids flutter closed, his hand moving to hold Richie’s against Eddie’s cheek with his face tilted up like he would if he was wanting to feel the warmth of the sun against his skin. It feels like every rib in Richie’s chest is being cracked open, exposing the weakest part of him, the red and bloody bits of his lungs that he had shoved back inside of his chest when they had broken up. But Eddie waits, his fingers shaking against Richie’s hand as his other arm winds around Richie’s neck, and Richie always knew he was never good at telling Eddie no. 

Richie kisses Eddie easily, feeling Eddie sigh against his mouth as he is immediately kissed back. He feels comforted by Eddie’s kiss in a way that Richie isn’t sure that there are words for, the familiarity of how they fit together a soothing salve over Richie’s grief. It doesn’t feel like coming home because Richie isn’t sure that he’s ever left. It feels like Eddie is holding him in every sense that matters. Eddie kisses Richie like he is trying to express how sad he feels, that he can see how sad Richie is too, that they are sad together and Richie isn’t alone. Richie feels himself kissing Eddie like he has always wanted to since they broke things off, how he had wanted to kiss Eddie goodbye properly that night they stopped their arrangement, how he had wanted to every single day since then for the last five years.

_ I’m heartbroken and I don’t know how to tell you,  _ Richie kisses Eddie.

_ Me too,  _ Eddie kisses Richie back.

They pull away finally and Richie heaves a breath as Eddie presses their foreheads together again before pulling Richie back in for another kiss, cupping Richie’s cheeks in his hands as he does. It’s shorter this time, ending with Richie running his thumb over the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“I can’t do anything more than this,” Richie says hoarsely when they pull apart again, still not too far from each other that either of them drop their hands. Eddie frowns at him and Richie doesn’t stop himself from kissing the spot between his eyebrows, always weak for how Eddie would make that face at him after they would kiss. 

He knows that this moment only exists in the time that they sit on Eddie’s couch, that the minute they stand up that it will be gone and probably never spoken of again, and Richie is okay with it. He still can’t help himself from kissing Eddie’s temple anyway, making the most of the time that Richie is all too aware of that he is running out of.

No one ever talks about how to exist in a friendship with someone that you are pretty sure is it for you, that acting on something too early sometimes dooms it from the beginning. No one ever talks about what happens when you try to be casual with something that was never meant to be casual to begin with. Richie buries his nose in Eddie’s temple as he feels Eddie do the same thing, except Eddie’s nose digs into the space behind Richie’s ear, feeling him inhale deeply without embarrassment. 

“I didn’t think-” Eddie stops himself and sits back from Richie. “I didn’t assume that you’d… after today. Just…” 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Richie smiles, the smallest one he can muster, but it still counts. He thinks so, anyway.

“I- Yeah, no, of course not.” Eddie says, and Richie knows he’s being genuine. He reaches out to take Richie’s hand again, giving it a squeeze before standing. 

Richie watches as Eddie wipes his palms against his pants, clearing his throat and Richie can’t help but take in the pink flush over Eddie’s cheeks from being kissed. He can’t bring himself to apologize or to even think about feeling regret over acting on wanting to kiss Eddie, so instead he watches as Eddie tries to dig them out of this awkward hole.

“I’m gonna go change if that’s cool with you,” Richie says after a minute of watching Eddie look like he’s going back and forth between wanting to say something or to jump out his own window. He looks surprised when Richie finally speaks, but nods anyway.

“Yeah, obviously it’s cool with me.” Eddie watches him get up from the couch, hovering weirdly as he approaches Eddie to pass him, but Richie feels his forearm being held onto before he can dart away. “Rich, you know I-”

“Eds-” Richie starts to cut him off. The nickname makes Eddie stop short, dragging his palm down Richie’s arm so that he’s holding his wrist like he had been before their kiss. 

“Okay,” Eddie says instead of whatever he had planned for the end of his sentence, giving Richie’s pulse another gentle squeeze before letting go. “I’ll be right in.” Richie smiles weakly again, turning away to head into Eddie’s room to change out of his suit. 

The walk into Eddie’s room is quick but Richie can feel Eddie’s gaze burning into the back of his neck as he walks away. With the bedroom door ajar, Richie makes quick work of changing out of his suit and into the clothes Eddie had left on the bed for him. The time between Richie changing and sloppily folding his suit to drape it over the chair Eddie has in the corner of his room, Richie can’t stop thinking about what he just did. He had managed to go years without giving in and closing the distance between them, perfectly fine with existing in a finite space where Eddie was just someone he was involved with in his past and never able to let go of. Eddie was his best friend, his first ever real friend he ever made as an adult, and Richie would never forgive himself for screwing that up. 

Richie stands at the foot of Eddie’s bed, staring at the spot in the middle of it where he knows from experience that Eddie sprawls across the centre of the mattress, regardless if he’s alone or sharing it with someone. If Richie were a stronger man he would have suggested he sleep on the couch, but he can’t lie to himself that nothing would make his day worse than being alone.

Eddie lightly taps on the door behind him, likely aware that Richie is lost in his thoughts. He steps back a little from the bed as Eddie walks in, giving him the tiniest smile.

“Forgot how to use a bed?” Eddie teases, sitting on his side of the mattress to pull off his socks. Richie still feels tender from the day he’s had, but the way Eddie continues to treat him like he won’t shatter at any second helps his nerves.

“Do you not hang from the ceiling to sleep?” Richie walks around to the other side, turning the covers down so he can climb in, sitting on the edge of it for a moment. 

“Do I look like a vampire?” Eddie says, his voice tinged with a smile Richie can hear from where his back is turned.

“Is this your way of telling me what you are?” Richie asks faux-innocently just to hear Eddie’s snort of laughter.

He can’t remember the last time they shared a bed together, but he does remember that every time they did that it usually led to other circumstances that Richie won’t even let himself entertain. He meant it when he said he couldn’t do anything more than kiss, which he shouldn’t have even done in the first place, but the fact that Eddie hadn’t pushed him away makes Richie hopeful despite himself. If he were to reach out to feel Eddie’s warm skin like he used to, he isn’t too sure that Eddie would turn him down, and that fact is enough to shake Richie’s careful walls he had built around his broken heart over Eddie.

Richie takes his glasses off with his back turned to Eddie, giving him the chance to change with Richie’s eyes off of him. The familiar sounds of Eddie taking off his clothes and putting them aside for tomorrow’s load of laundry is the only sound in his room. Richie only moves when he feels the mattress dip on the other side, turning his head to see Eddie dressed in sweats and an old t-shirt that Richie recognizes from when they were in university. 

“Okay?” Eddie asks quietly, looking like he’s holding himself back from something. Richie nods and lets himself slide under the covers, trying to not let the familiar smell of Eddie’s sheets overwhelm him. 

“Yeah,” Richie replies just as quietly, feeling Eddie lay down and pull his legs up so that his toes are gently touching Richie’s shin. “Your feet still get cold as fuck.”

“I can’t help my bad circulation,” Eddie snarks, but it’s said into his pillow as he tries to get comfortable. “Not everyone can be a fucking furnace powered by hellfire.”

“Cute,” Richie deadpans, opening his arm closest to Eddie out of habit. Richie can’t tell for sure with his glasses off but he thinks Eddie blinks at him, confused, before scooting into his arms anyway. 

His heart pounds, thinking he’s made a grave mistake, but Eddie sighs into Richie’s arm and turns his face to bury his nose into the sleeve of Richie’s shirt. He desperately wants to make a joke, that this is probably not normal behaviour from two exes-but-not-really, but he doesn’t have the energy. Richie is too exhausted and sad and tired to lie about that fact. 

Richie just lost his sister and he misses his niece like he has a limb missing even though he knows she’s safe, so he thinks he can be forgiven for being a little selfish with wanting Eddie in his arms even if it’s just for one night.

“Rich?” Eddie whispers, his arm already thrown around Richie’s middle. 

“Yeah?” Richie whispers back, already feeling his arm that Eddie is laying on going numb but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Eddie is quiet for a moment, seemingly thinking about what he wants to say, and Richie waits patiently but nervously. 

“I- I know today was hard,” Eddie continues, and Richie can hear him swallow. “And I’m not going to lie and say that it’s going to be easier now, but… whatever happens, you know I’m here, right?”

It’s Richie’s turn to swallow, but from the urge to cry. He just nods, nose burning from holding back tears and he feels Eddie squeeze his arm.

“As long as you know,” Eddie yawns so hard his jaw cracks, closing his eyes and settling his head against Richie’s shoulder easily as if they’ve done this hundreds of times, which Richie supposes they have, but it’s different this time. Eddie falls asleep before Richie, letting out a small breath as he does. 

The darkness filling the room doesn’t seem so oppressive in that moment as Richie finally closes his eyes too, his body drained. The warmth Eddie radiates makes Richie fall asleep faster than he has been able to in days.

It begins to rain outside.

Richie doesn’t dream.


End file.
